


hanging on while the world crashes in

by snarkymuch



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Protective Tony Stark, Rubber band, Self-Harm, Tony Stark Lives, Triggers, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, and Healthy Ones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:27:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24491269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkymuch/pseuds/snarkymuch
Summary: Peter is struggling after coming back from the snap. He starts to fall into old habits, ones he thought he was over. He uses a rubber band on his wrist to cope, but eventually those close to him notice. Tony misses nothing.
Relationships: May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 36
Kudos: 306





	hanging on while the world crashes in

**Author's Note:**

> **Trigger Warning for Self-Harm**  
>    
> I tried to approach this subject with sensitivity but it is still triggering. There are discussions of the guilt and shame around self-harm.
> 
> This was written for an anon on Tumblr, who wanted more Peter coping with self-harm, using a rubber band. I hope you like it.

_The battle fell silent, and Peter saw Tony collapse against a piece of rubble. He fought invisible hands as he tried to reach his side. It was like he was moving through molasses. When he reached Tony, he fell to his knees, reaching out unbelieving as his mentor, his friend, laid dying. Empty eyes looked off into nothingness, glazed and unseeing. A scream built in Peter’s chest as he reached for Tony, but he couldn’t touch him, his hands passed right through …_

He woke himself, panting and clutching the sheets. It was just a dream. Tony was alive and well in his lake house with Pepper and Morgan. It was the same dream he’d had nearly every night. Instead of Captain Marvel using the gauntlet, Tony had, and he’d died in the process. 

A thin sheen of sweat coated his skin, and his clothes clung to him. He tried to steady his breathing. It has felt so real. 

To the outside world, he’d done his best to put on a good face and pretend that he was okay, but he was far from it. It was all too much to lose five years, having people who were younger than him now older. He felt lost in a sea of emotion, drifting in the currents and struggling not to drown. 

It had been a long time since he felt so lost, without a tether. Like when Ben had died, and he’d fought hard against the waves of grief. Nothing had felt stable then, just as nothing did now. 

In those times, he’d turned to less than acceptable means to ground himself and find control. A blade offered solace where nothing else could. He knew it was wrong, but the pain was like a lifeline in a stormy sea, stopping the choppy waters long enough to catch his breath. 

Like everything, though, May had found out. Maybe Peter wasn’t hiding it well on purpose. Maybe he wanted to be discovered. Part of him had known if he didn’t stop, he’d keep falling down the slippery slope. 

Therapy had become a thing, and he’d learned skills to cope. Holding ice cubes in his hands until they burned, drawing on his arms, but the one that stuck and worked the most was the rubber band. It couldn’t be a thin one. It needed to be one with weight and strength. He’d wear it like a bracelet, drawing it back and snapping it hard whenever the storm inside him became too rough, and he felt the urge to cut. 

At first, he’d seen the pain in May’s eyes when she saw him snapping it, but eventually, it just became part of them. When he fingered the band, May would ask if he was okay. He didn’t open up at first, but he soon found himself snapping it less and talking more. The churning sea of emotion became more settled, and he moved on, but he kept his bands in a drawer, just in case he ever needed them again, which now, maybe he did. 

So much grief and hurt swirled in him, mixing with loss. He should be happy everyone was okay, that the vanished were returned and Thanos was stopped, but he couldn’t change the twisting emotions that wrenched at his heart. 

For the first time in a long time, Peter wanted to cut. It wasn’t a pretty feeling, and it wasn’t okay. He wasn’t okay, though. He was spiraling and needed something to stop his fall. He couldn’t focus, and everything felt like too much. He craved the feeling of it all being driven down to a sharp point, real physical pain he could control. 

With clumsy movements, he pushed himself up, throwing back the covers. His heart was still beating a bit too fast, and his breaths a touch too shallow. The walls felt like they were pressing in, and his chest ached selfishly for everything he’d lost. 

He plunked down in his desk chair and pulled the drawer open with single-minded focus. The little pile of rubber bands gave him pause, and he brushed over them with his fingertips, but that wouldn’t be enough, and he knew it. Or maybe it could have been, but he was weak and wanted the real thing. 

Pens and paperclips rattled around as he dug to the very back of the drawer, his bottom lip between his teeth. His fingers brushed the plastic outside, and his prize shifted out of reach, but Peter doubled his efforts. His nail caught it, and he dragged it, scrapping, toward the front of the drawer. 

The small yellow utility knife sat amongst the clutter with a power that it shouldn’t hold. Like a siren call, it drew Peter closer, never taking his eyes off it. His fingers brushed over it before picking it up, turning it in his hand, weighing it, and finding it worthy of the task. 

A piece of him knew he shouldn’t be doing this, but it was suffocated by the need for an anchor, for something grounding. He told himself that as he looked at the blade that it would be just once, he would use the bands after, but even as he told himself that, he knew it was a lie. 

He felt alive as he held it to his skin, and the storm raging inside him quieted as he pressed the blade to the surface of his arm. He drew a stuttering breath through his teeth at the initial sting and then breathed out a sigh. He didn’t feel like he was drowning anymore. He felt in control for this first time since Titan. 

Blood bubbled up from the cut and dribbled down the side of his arm, weaving a haphazard path until it reached the pale underside and beaded there, ready to drip onto the floor. 

He watched it with fascination, grabbed a dirty sock on the floor, and dabbed up the blood with the cleaner looking end. The immediate rush he felt was already fading, and the line the blade had drawn was already sealing over, no match for his super-powered healing. 

Adjusting his grip on the knife, he licked his lips, glancing once at the open drawer and nest of rubber bands. He shoved it closed, not wanting to see evidence of his failings staring him in the eye. 

With more pressure than the last, he carved a deeper line into his arm, a cut that, unlike the previous, bled free and fast. The blood did drip onto the floor this time, hitting it with tiny splatters. Some landed on his leg and more on his barefoot, running down under his heel. 

The only thing he could feel was the burn of the wound. It muted all the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. For a moment, he could just breathe. Sitting in his room, the world made a little more sense, and everything he couldn’t understand before was in focus. 

The flow of blood had slowed, but it was still running in rivulets down his arm. He pressed the soiled sock to the wound, relishing the stab of pain that came with the action. It would heal in a few hours if it even took that long. 

Peeling back the sock, he examined his work. The skin was neatly split, but the blood had stopped. 

There was no point in bandaging it, so he cleaned up the blood on the floor and changed his pajama pants. Then, he went into the bathroom and washed the blood from his arm. When he got back to his room, he slipped the knife back into its hiding spot. 

The next morning, he hesitated by his desk, eyeing the drawer. Two very different but connected things were in there. The rubber bands and the knife. He wondered what it said about him that he couldn’t decide which to take. Maybe he should take both. 

Part of him began to reason that healing his factor protected from real harm, so where was the danger? The small piece of plastic and metal had given him more peace than anything else had in months. After giving in and letting himself have that moment, he’d been able to sleep without dreams of turning to dust. 

But then he thought of May and the look she had in her eyes the first time she saw the cuts healing on his arms after Ben, and it felt like the air was sucked from his lungs. She’d trusted him not to cut, and he’d broken that unsaid promise. 

Guilt crashed over him at what he’d done, eating him alive like a thousand flesh-eating beetles. There was no going back, though, no pretending he hadn’t done it. Even if he didn’t tell her, he’d know, and that was enough. 

He needed to do better—for himself and for May. He yanked the drawer open and grabbed one of the bands, still unsure what he’d say when May saw it. He stretched it over his hand and let it circle his wrist. He gave a small snap and then shut the drawer and went about getting ready. 

May was in the kitchen when he went to grab something to eat before school. She greeted him with a warm smile, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him down to kiss his cheek. 

“Morning, sleepyhead,” she said, turning to refill her abandoned cup on the counter. “How’d you sleep?” 

“Good,” Peter lied, the word tasting chalky in his mouth. Unconsciously, he rubbed the band that circled his left wrist. “How was work last night?” 

“You know, a nurse’s job is never done. It was busy, but I guess it could have been worse. At least the AC was working.” She leaned against the counter, taking a sip of her coffee, but paused and lowered the cup, her eyes locked on Peter’s wrist. “Do we need to talk?” 

Peter dropped his arm, like that would somehow hide what he’d done. “It’s—I’m okay.” 

May’s brows drew together, and she studied him for a moment before setting down her cup and crossing the short distance to Peter. She took his hands in hers, warm and dry against his cold and clammy. She squeezed them, and he did it back. 

“You’d tell me if it was getting bad again, right?” 

He nodded as the guilt over what he’d done filled his lungs, stopping his breath. He didn’t want to lie, but he couldn’t tell the whole truth either. 

“It can’t be easy for you. You’ve been through a lot. There’s no shame in struggling.” 

He couldn’t move his head to nod, so he stared at a point to the side of her face and tried to swallow some of the emotion he was drowning in. 

She stayed silent, holding his hands, and after a moment, he chanced a look at her face. The understanding he saw in her eyes just made the pain all that much worse. 

“I’m sorry, May.” His voice trembled. “I’m so sorry.” 

“Whatever happened, it’s okay. It’ll be okay. I know you didn’t mean it. And this here”—her thumb touched the band—“this tells me that you want to do better, and that’s enough for me.” 

* * *

The rubber band became part of his very existence again, just like it had years ago. He found himself constantly touching it and reminding himself that it was there. When the world became too much, and he felt like he was drifting away, he would snap it and let the sting ground him, reminding him where he was. 

It wasn’t what he craved, though. It was a cheap replacement for the real thing, but the guilt over what he’d done was enough to keep him from cutting again. Almost. 

Over a month had passed since the incident as he called it, where he fell back and reset his count to zero. May asked him every day how he was. Sometimes she would ask him to rate it, the need, from one to ten. Some days were lower than others. Most days, he hovered near a six. A few times after waking up from a nightmare, he’d been higher, but the band brought it back down to a reasonable number, if there ever was such a thing. What was reasonable about wanting to cut your own skin, to watch yourself bleed? 

Tony had invited him to spend the weekend at the lake house, and May didn’t let him say no. She thought it might be good to get out of the city. If he was honest, it scared him a little, thinking about going. Tony was perceptive, his eyes were sharp, and he rarely missed the details, no matter how hard Peter tried to hide them. Tony didn’t know about the cutting or the band. It was the one thing he’d kept from the man. Maybe he was a coward, but he didn’t want to see the disappointment in Tony’s eyes when he told him. Even though it hurt to lie, it was a necessary evil, a small price to pay for peace of mind. 

Peter began to pack a bag, and he paused at the desk, his eyes locked on the drawer, and it wasn’t the bands that were calling him. Swallowing a lump of guilt, he opened it and reached into the back, finding the knife. Wrapping it in a sock, he tucked it into his bag, feeling a sickening twist of relief. 

The ride to the lake house went quickly, and soon Happy was pulling into the secluded driveway. The weather was hot, so he was wearing short sleeves. Thankfully, there was no scarring from what he’d done before, and to anyone looking, it seemed like he’d collected a random rubber band. There was no hint that it was something more profound. 

Morgan greeted him with a hug around his legs when he got out of the car, and Tony stood from the rocking chair on the porch and smiled. He had a glass of something that looked like lemonade in his hand. 

Peter grabbed his bag and then let Morgan lead him into the house. The few times he’d stayed over, he was given the guest room near Tony’s and Peppers. He wiggled out of Morgan’s hold long enough to drop his bag and then followed her as she showed him her bug collection, something that he imagined Pepper wasn’t too excited about. 

Pepper swept in with a smile and greeted Peter and collected a very disagreeable child for a bath. In all the chaos that was Morgan, he hadn’t thought of the band on his wrist, and maybe that was a good thing. He liked to think it was. 

The sun was casting long shadows as it set against the trees at the end of the lake. Peter hadn’t seen Tony yet, other than to say hi as Morgan dragged him past. He thumbed the band on his wrist and walked out toward the garage, where Tony was probably hiding. 

He knocked on the door to the garage, and Tony’s voice came from inside. “It’s open.” 

Peter opened the door and blinked a few times at the dimmer lit room. His eyes didn’t really need to adjust much—spider powers and all. Tony wiped his hands on a shop towel, draping it over his shoulder after. 

Peter might not have been avoiding him, but maybe he was scared to be around him. Between his memories of his nightmares, and fear Tony would somehow see through him, see how broken he was. He shouldn’t be depressed or struggling. He should be thankful and happy that he’d been given another chance and saved, but the only thing he felt was wrong. He didn’t feel like he fit like he used to. The world felt like it moved on without him. Perhaps it had. 

Without thinking, his index finger hooked the band and snapped it. The little jolt brought him back into the moment, and the sting grounded him there, pushing away a bit of the storm that was brewing inside him. 

When Peter blinked, he noticed Tony looking at his wrist, and Peter dropped his arms. He rubbed his palms against his jeans and tried not to shrink under Tony’s scrutiny. 

“So, what you working on?” Peter asked, hoping to break the tension. 

Tony seemed to shake himself out of whatever was on his mind and motioned to the workbench where Pepper’s Rescue armor lay. “Just upgrading a few things. Never can be too careful. Could come in useful again someday, though let’s hope not.” 

Peter tried to hide the flinch at the mention of the final battle. “That’s cool. Do you need any help?” 

Tony’s mouth twitched into a smile. “Yeah, of course. I can show you what I’ve done.” 

They worked together in silence, Peter more watching that helping. He hadn’t been sleeping well, and it was finally wearing him down. He tried hard not to touch the band. It was already stupid to snap it once in front of Tony. It showed too much of his hand. He knew the man would begin looking for answers where Peter didn’t want to give them. He reassured himself, though, that at least he wasn’t cutting. He’d been doing well. 

But not using the band in front of Tony or the rest of the family put him in a bad position. He couldn’t keep the urge in check and keep himself grounded. He felt a little like he was floating away. Tony’s words drifted past him, not really connecting. Maybe it was tiredness, or perhaps it was something more. Either way, he was having trouble pretending that he was okay and that his world wasn’t tilted and off-balanced. He knew the smile on his face rang hollow, and it scared him that Tony was too perceptive to miss it. 

“Why don’t we go see what Pepper’s wrangled up for dinner?” Tony’s voice pulled him from his head. 

He hadn’t noticed it, but he was thumbing the band again, so he stuffed his hand into his pocket. 

“Yeah, yeah, that sounds great. Morgan’s probably looking for me again by now.” 

Tony smiled, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “You’re a good brother, Peter. Thank you for that.” 

Peter shook his head. “I should be thanking you.” 

And he really felt he should. Tony had created time travel to bring them all back. It wasn’t his fault that Peter was broken and didn’t come back right. 

Tony clapped a hand on Peter’s back. “I guess we should just call it even.” 

Dinner went well. It was lasagna with garlic bread and a salad. Morgan ate the soft part of the bread but refused to eat the crust, she nibbled the lettuce like a rabbit, and spread her lasagna across her plate. He wasn’t really sure she ate much, but her giggling and chatter eased some of his nerves. 

Every time he looked down at his wrist, though, he saw the band and thought of what he’d done, then looked at Morgan and felt a wave of shame and guilt. She deserved better than a brother who hurt himself because he couldn’t cope any other way. And he was scared, too, worried that his darkness would somehow rub off on her, contaminating her. What if she learned what he did and followed down the same path? 

Dinner sat heavy in his stomach after that thought, and he excused himself from the table, earning a concerned look from Tony. Peter tried to give him a weak smile and reassure him, but he knew it fell flat. 

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay, honey?” Pepper asked, looking ready to stand and press a hand to his forehead. He appreciated the kindness. 

Peter nodded, his lips stretched in a thin smile. “I’m just drained. I haven’t been able to sleep the last few nights—no, it’s nothing to worry about—just been up studying. My own fault.” 

Tony’s eyes searched his face for something, but then he let out a breath and nodded. “Get some rest, kid. We can go swimming tomorrow.” 

“I can do a cannonball!” Morgan announced. 

Peter’s smile got a little warmer. “That’s great, Mo. I can’t wait to see.” 

“You sure you don’t want to stay up with me? We’re gonna watch the Lion King again.” 

Peter ruffled her hair. “I’ll watch something with you tomorrow. I promise.” He waved at the table and excused himself. 

When he got to his room, he closed the door, leaning back against it as his shoulders fell. He sagged against the wood, running a hand over his face. Coming to the lake house had been a bad idea. He should have stayed home, where he couldn’t spread his disease. He didn’t need to infect others. 

The worst of it was that he wanted to cut, and his day hadn’t been that bad. Maybe that made him even weaker. He couldn’t even handle day to day life without feeling like he had to hurt himself. It wasn’t how healthy people reacted. He was a freak. 

He didn’t want to snap the band, he just wanted to be better, but what else could he do? He glanced across the room at his backpack, and the knife he knew was wrapped up inside. Tony would never know. If he was careful, he could hide it. They weren’t expecting him to leave him room until morning, and by then, everything would be healed. 

No, he couldn’t. He crossed the room to his bed and laid down. He would sleep through the urge. He needed to be better. 

_Peter kneeled on the ground, his knife in his hand, pressing to his arm, blood dribbled down his wrist, and dripping on the grass. He was at the lake house, in front of the porch, and Morgan was watching him, a knife of her own held in her small hands. She watched his movements, then looked at her arm and began to cut like Peter. He wanted to stop her, to scream no, but he couldn’t find his voice._

Peter woke with a start, clutching the sheets and panting for breath. It was dark except for the crisp moonlight cutting through the window. His stomach churned of the memory of Morgan’s chubby little fingers wrapped around the knife. The edges of his vision began to darken as he struggled to breathe, spots dancing. Bile rose in his throat, bitter-tasting on the back of his tongue. 

He blindly felt around his wrist for the band and began snapping it, but the sting wasn’t enough to ground him, though it did help a little. The skin started to get sore, but he kept going, finding a steady rhythm. 

His heart began to slow, and his breathing settled, but he needed air. The walls still felt too close, too confining. If he were back home, he’d go to the roof. Tossing back his blanket, he slipped from the bed and walked barefoot out of his room and down the stairs. He was careful to walk quietly so as not to wake anyone up. He went out the back door and onto the porch, sitting down on the bench and looking out over the water. The moonlight reflected over the surface, causing ripples of light that stretched across the lake. 

Instead of snapping the band, he began to dig his thumbnail into his arm. He needed it, just for a minute. It would stop the spiral and let him breathe. The pain grew, the harder he pushed, and blood started to bubble up. It looked black in the moonlight and oddly satisfying. 

His eyes fell closed only to snap open when he heard the door. 

“Pete?” It was Tony. He was dressed in sweats with a tank. 

Peter tried to shift his arm and hide the blood trail that marked his arm, but it only made it that more obvious. Shame crashed over him, and his heart began beating out of his chest. 

“It’s not what it looks like.” Peter’s voice broke over the words. 

Tony’s eyes were on the small river of blood leading toward his wrist. His gaze broke away from it to meet Peter’s, and it took everything Peter had not to shrink under the intensity. He didn’t look angry. That would have been easier. No, Tony looked worried and hurt, which was so much worse. 

Maybe seeing Peter struggling, Tony’s expression softened even more, and he sat down beside Peter, looking out over the lake. 

“You did it to yourself.” And it wasn’t really a question. Tony was telling him. 

Peter looked at the water, frowning. The blood on his arm was drying, and the small wound was already closing. There was no point in lying, and if Peter was honest, he didn’t want to lie. He carried enough—he didn’t have room for lies, too. 

“Yeah,” Peter breathed, feeling a weight lift. 

He could see Tony nod beside him, and they sat in silence for a little longer, the water lapping the shore the only sound. 

“How long?” 

That wasn’t an easy question. Had he ever gotten better, or had he just tricked himself into believing he had? Was this something he would ever heal from? 

“After Ben.” Peter’s voice was a hoarse whisper. “And then after the battle, after coming back. I—I don’t think I came back right, ya know?” 

Tony looked at him, and Peter dared a quick glance. Tony’s eyes dropped to the blood, and then he looked out over the water again, so Peter did, too. 

“Why didn’t you come to me? I should’ve—I knew something was going on. The rubber band, right?” 

“Yeah, uh, it’s a coping thing?” It came out like a question, and he wasn’t sure why. Maybe because it failed to work when he needed it. “May knows,” he added, not really sure why. 

“Do you we—what do we do here? Do you need to talk? I feel like I should be angry, but I don’t want to be, kid. I just want you to be okay. I feel like I dropped the ball. Can I ask—can I ask why?” 

Peter sucked in a breath, fisting his hands in his lap. “I don’t know, I guess. It wasn’t something I set out to do. It just happened one day, and then I couldn’t stop, but it’s not like before. I used to be worse, I guess. I’ve only really done it once since coming back, for real anyway.” 

Tony sucked in a breath. “Is it always just scratching? That’s what you did tonight, right? It looked like you did it yourself.” 

Something inside Peter tightened. He didn’t like talking about this, but he didn’t want to lie. Maybe it would help to talk about it. “Um, no, I mean, sometimes—I have a knife.” 

Peter chanced a look at Tony and saw he had gone still. 

“Did you bring it with you?” There was something Peter couldn’t place in his tone, and it made his stomach knot. 

“I, uh … It’s in my bag. I wasn’t going to use it here.” He felt like he should explain. “I wouldn’t do that. I just—it made me feel better having it. Just in case.” 

Tony made a noise of acknowledgment, then sucked in another breath. “Okay, well. I’m going to need that.” 

Peter swallowed; his palms were sweaty now. “Yeah, I understand.” 

“And I’m talking to May about this. We are going to get you some therapy, something. I lost you once. I can’t—I won’t lose you again.” There was a finality to his tone, and Peter knew better than to argue. 

“I really am sorry.” 

Tony looked at him, then wrapped his arm around his shoulders, pulling him into his side. “Don’t apologize for this. Yeah, I don’t want you hurting yourself, and I don’t really understand, or maybe I do. I don’t know. I just—it’s not your fault. We’ll figure this out. You’re not alone.” 

Tears blurred Peter’s vision, and he slipped his arms around Tony’s waist, burying his face in his chest. “I don’t want to be like this.” 

“I know, kiddo. I know. I promise we’ll figure this out. We just need to take this one day at a time.” 

Tony rubbed a hand up and down Peter’s back, and they stayed huddled together until the sky began to lighten, and Peter’s neck started to ache. He rubbed his eyes, sitting up and looking out over the lake. 

Red and orange painted the horizon as the sun crested the mountains in the distance. Morgan and Pepper would be up soon, and he needed to clean himself up. The dried blood on his arm was still there, flaking away, but the crescent-shaped cut from his nail was gone. 

Tony rubbed his back a little more and took his arm from around Peter and rubbed his eyes. Peter couldn’t help but notice how tired he looked now. 

“I think we know what we need,” Tony said, looking away from the sunrise to Peter. “Waffles. Iron Man waffles. They’re like magic, can fix anything.” 

Peter knew waffles weren’t going to fix anything, but he still found a smile tugging at his lips. “I can’t believe you buy your own merch.” 

"I’ll have you know, Rhodey bought the waffle maker.” He tipped his head to the side. “Now the shower curtain, that’s another thing. I can’t help it. I like how I look.” 

Peter huffed a laugh, absently fingering the band. “I should probably go get washed up before Morgan wakes up.” 

“You okay?” Tony’s eyes were full of concern. 

He looked at the blood on his arm. “You know, I don’t think I am, but I’d like to be.” 

Tony nodded, nudging his shoulder into Peter. “It’s okay not to be, but, Pete, I need you to bring the knife down.” 

He looked out at the water and then at Tony. “Yeah, that’s probably for the best. Do I really need to talk to someone? What about, you know, Spider-Man?” 

“Let me take care of that. I’ll find someone we can trust. You’ll tell me if it gets bad, right? Until we find someone, I need to know you’re safe.” 

“Yeah, the, uh, the band helps, but if it gets bad, I’ll try to tell you. I just—it’s not always the easiest thing. I don’t always think things through.” 

Tony drew a deep breath. “Okay, I guess I’ll take what I can get. Enough with the heavy stuff. Why don’t you go clean up and get the thing we talked about, and I’ll go warm up the waffle iron.” 

Peter nodded. “Yeah, that sounds good.” 

He knew things wouldn’t be instantly better, and he knew waffles wouldn’t fix the pain, but maybe it was the first step to making things better, a soothing balm over a raw wound. He didn’t need to hide anymore, and he wasn’t alone. Help was waiting. He just needed to reach out and take it. 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](https://snarky-drabbles.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I'm still open to prompts. I can't promise it will inspire me, but it might. There's no harm in asking. 
> 
> Thank you and I hope you drop a comment or kudos. This one was really intense and personal for me, so I could use hearing what others thought.


End file.
